Serpensortia
by Coyoyotie
Summary: In which war-weary-and-bored Harry goes back to a simpler time to try and save his world. Meanwhile, almost-eleven-years-old Harry gains a new friend in the snake he accidently sets free from the zoo. Time-travel, animagus, Harry-mentors-Harry. Pairings will come later.
1. Beginning

Prompt bunny from the lovely rendamos, with a hint of ideas from the amazing raspberriesandrum.

Updates are likely to be quite erratic depending on how inspired I feel, whether I'm in the middle of an exam, access to a laptop, and ideas. I've worked out about 20% of this fic so far, and I'm writing as I think of it - what happens next is as much my guess as it is yours. Due to this, feel free to natter an idea or two in a review, and you may see them pop up in the next chapters. I really, _really _hope to make this a long fic, and finish it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do, however, own my own, handmade wand which is epic.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Beginning**

Pain seared through his body, slashing through his nerves and –

It was everywhere, it consumed his every thought, and his fingers were breaking, he was sure, just like his hair was being ripped piece by piece from his skin and his limbs were stretched to their limits –

There was no rest, no chance for him to breathe – he couldn't breathe, his lungs were shrinking and couldn't pull in enough air, his skull as well, rippling into a smaller shape and pulverising his brain, thoughts were jumbled as his whole body was squashed, pulled and pushed like a side-along apparation gone wrong –

His face first, from what he could tell through the pain, sucked into the vacuum and he still couldn't breathe and then the rest of his body, and finally his legs, squeezed through like a mouse through a tiny crack in a door, but exaggerated because there was no way this could be natural –

And suddenly, it began to slow down. Barely, but enough for his torture-ridden mind to comprehend and notice and Merlin, he could breathe again and he gulped air, dragged it into his abused lungs and his heart picked up again, thank Merlin, oh God –

As his senses gently came back to normal, cautiously, as if hiding from another possible attack, he realised that he was still on the floor of his inherited house. The wooden floorboards, cleaner than he remembered, felt hard and uncomfortable against his aching muscles. It felt odd for a minute when he tried to move his hands, to steady himself or grab his head or feel around himself to make sure he was alive – he wasn't quite sure which – before realising that the shock of the spasm-inducing agony had not only sought his subconscious instincts and safety inside his own mind, but he had automatically shifted to his Animagus form. His animal version, after all, had a noticeably smaller amount of morals when it came to protecting himself, and more instincts in order to do it. The snake could strike at almost invisible speeds without even thinking, whilst as a human he'd have to gather his magic, pick a spell, aim his wand, and throw his power at the enemy.

He focused on his eyes, the burning slowly fading to a constant, manageable noise, and glanced around where he lay sprawled. He noticed first that the ritual ingredients had disappeared. There were no sprigs of herbs and magical plants set at exact degrees of measurements in a perfect pentagon around him, and the gems had gone from their small, wobbly stacks at each point of the star. Most importantly, on the northern point, there was no Time-Turner (Version 3.4, DoM Exp. (Extremely Dangerous)) with its tentacle-like chains curling through the patterns of chalk on the floor, no wires of pure magic circling the runes or wrapping the stone piles.

Behind where the experimental equipment had previously laid, colours and shapes swirled and intermingled as things moved almost too fast to see. The pain, which was by now a mere fraction of the hurt caused by, say, the Cruciatus, was easily dismissed to the back of his mind and he could keep his thoughts on the happenings surrounding his vulnerable form. The moving blurs, he soon found out, were people and animals. The people sped through, differing marginally every time they came in sight, and the animals changed every so often, and the children shrunk to babies and the furniture moved and the television which had appeared earlier was older… and he knew what had happened.

It had worked.

Well, it _was working_. The pain was still an irritating constant and he was obviously still moving back in time.

...Which he needed to stop doing, he decided, as the television remote disappeared and was replaced by a radio-like dial beside the TV screen. He could imagine the crackly, static response that a machine that old fashioned would produce.

He racked his serpent brain for the answer. The ritual had three stages, he remembered. Naturally, it was the setup, the sending, and the stopping, and he couldn't exactly speak the chants aloud in his snake form, could he? Hissing was notably useless when it came to spell casting.

Intent, then, could possibly work in a similar way to non-verbal spells. He'd just have to hope that his luck held out and the ritual didn't need spoken words in the Queen's English.

And so, whilst he droned out the four-line ending of the spell which needed to be repeated (he couldn't remember how many times, so he figured he'd do it until it worked), his mind was screaming, _STOP STOP STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP _with strong intent and –

The Muggle film which was happening around him slowed to the crawl of reality. The old woman, who had claimed the horrible paisley armchair beside the fireplace, began drinking her milk at a normal pace rather than on fast-forward, and the dog washing itself at her feet slowed his licking to a natural speed.

_Okay,_ he breathed out in relief, _success; now let's get out of the dark ages!_ Because Merlin, his grandparents likely had a better television than that.

Feeling marginally in control this time, the snake watched closely as the surrounding room sped up once more, rushing back forward through time. He could feel the whirring of the Time-Turner (Version 3.4, DoM etc.) as if it had been absorbed into his bloodstream, and it shifted in time with his heartbeat.

A spike in the pain, which he had previously been trying to ignore, jolted his concentration. The magic apparently didn't like him calling the shots, because the spike turned into a brief stabbing feeling, and then to a long slashing, and now –

The pain was back in full force, and his concentration was shattered. His aforementioned calm heartbeat burst into action, racing away at a million beats per minute –

It didn't include the squeezing and mashing of being forced through a paradoxical wormhole this time, but it was close enough. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack; that is, if his heart didn't thump right out of his chest first –

Mentally screaming again, his face and mind and body contorted in pain, he began yelling once again for it to –

_STOP STOP STOP STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP –_

It stopped.

Like the after effects of a _Crucio_, he lay shuddering on the wooden floor once more, muscles periodically spasming and clenching. He breathed in deeply again, getting the feeling of déjà vu as his lungs choked in oxygen.

Swirling in the air around him was his magic, wild and independent and searching the surrounding area; he wasn't in control of it anymore, and Merlin if that didn't bring even more déjà vu. The last time his magic decided to go solo was after the Final Battle, in which he fought his enemy and almost died in the aftershock. As it was, it just loosened his ability to manipulate his power. It instead lashed out at anyone he had a negative thought towards, soothing those he liked, and doing every slight action on his mere impressions of thoughts as they began to form in his head.

It took a total of three years before it had calmed down then, and he hoped perhaps he could shorten that the second time around. The amount of pain he was in didn't help, however; stress just aggravated it.

_Damnit._

Both the magic and the pain dissuaded him from even attempting to revert from his Animagus form, not that he had the energy anyway, and so he contented himself with staying safely still, tail coiled into a protective bunch around his head. And then he slept.

* * *

Not for long, apparently, as he felt a soft jab in his side. He peeked through his looped body to see a chubby face not 5 inches from his own. The toddler's eyes were wide in wonder, cheeks rosy and dimpled as the little girl grinned. He twitched and hissed in warning as a short, wrinkly finger reached forward again and neared his still sensitive scales, but refrained from striking out.

The snake's head wound back into his huddled body again as an almighty screech came from the doorway. It was cut off abruptly when the elder woman came to her senses; hopefully realising that she'd either deafen the poor animal or spook the potentially poisonous snake into teething on her daughter. (It was most likely the latter.)

"Marie, sweetie, don't touch it," spoke the woman in forced hushed tones. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she reached backwards to grab something before creeping nearer. She crouched down in an attempt to appear less threatening. As the child chattered nonsense to her parent, one hand reached and clutched at Marie's dress, sliding her along the floor and putting some distance between her and the danger.

The snake clenched his tail closer as he sighed. He needed to find a way to leave Grimmauld Place, which had apparently changed marginally between whatever time he was currently occupying, and the 2000s. He knew that the Black family had owned number 12 for a few of decades at least, so he wondered if he'd perhaps been shunted along into number 11, possibly by one of the many protective wards that surrounded his godfather's childhood home.

BANG! Just as he began to uncoil, ready to slither under a nearby sofa to plan his escape, a basket of some sort had been slapped to the floor over him, narrowly missing the tip of his tail.

It was a washing basket, likely the object that Marie's mother had collected before retrieving her kid. And he was stuck, which was great. The basket approach (read: lack of hexes) also proved that he was inside a Muggle house, and so even if he was able to, transforming back to his human form was not recommended.

He collapsed back to the floorboards, eyes rolling at his luck.

Deciding to make the most of his time, he slipped back into a light doze, replenishing his energy in sleep. He kept an ear open to keep track of the human as she flipped through a thick, yellow book with a phone in hand.

"I can't really tell the length as it's all coiled up, but it's about an inch and a half thick. Black mostly, but the underside is dark red, like blood, and the red is in streaks up the sides.

"Yes, exactly like that. Shiny scales, and it looks really smooth; no ridges. It didn't attack my daughter, either, and she's at the age where she has to feel everything so she probably poked it!

"Mud snake? Okay, as long as it isn't poisonous. I thought the red meant it was venomous... Right, I'm free all day. I've only just moved in, and they didn't say anything about a snake problem. Not that it'd help the house sell, of course.

"Sure, that's fine. I'm pretty sure it can't get out. Laura Winslow, 11 Grimmauld – you've heard of it? Great. Of course, bye."

The room darkened then as Laura tossed a blanket from the sofa over the basket. Soon after came a couple of thumps, and a slight creak as a pile of heavy objects secured his prison.

The mud snake huffed a sigh. Harry Potter wasn't getting out of this one.

* * *

It was at least a few hours later when the visitors arrived. By this time, the snake was quite hungry (time travelling did wonders for your appetite) and irritable, bored of the limited space. The floor vibrated with every footstep as the newcomers came toward him, the wooden ground quaking and scratching slightly at his skin.

Laura Winslow was already speaking, explaining the situation and whatnot. The snake, grumpy as he was, let his instincts take over from his human mind as the two men removed the cover.

"He's quite a nice one; I'd say at least a metre long, on the longer end of the scale. I'd also put him at quite a young age." The guy was tall and lean, towering over the snake's prone form to peer through the holes in the basket.

The other, shorter but equally skinny and dressed in the same suit-like uniform with a bag of equipment over his shoulder, had knelt beside his colleague for a closer look. "They're native to America so God knows how it got here. Illegal trade? Zoo escapee?"

The first unzipped his bag and pulled out a collapsible carrier box and a long tool. As his co-worker gently tipped the basket up, he eased the tool under the rim and clenched the handle, causing the two-pronged end to close around the snake's body, close to the head. They grinned in tandem as he was raised into the air, one setting up the box ready for use whilst the other examined the red and black hissing animal for wounds or anything unusual. The snake could see the woman, child in her arms, leaning against the door frame with a look of curious awe, apparently feeling brave enough to admire the reptile now that her youngster was safe.

"He looks fine to me," said the taller man, lowering Harry into the box as he spoke. "A fine animal, though slightly mysterious!"

The snake calmed once more from his tense posture as the carrier lid closed, slipping him into darkness again. He listened with half a mind to the farewells of the humans as he felt himself being lifted and moved.

_Okay,_ he thought to himself, squashing down the instincts to sleep yet again. _I really need a plan now... Though it would help if I knew where I was being taken, _he supposed, _and the date would be pretty beneficial as well._

As it was, Harry didn't find out either until three months had passed.

During those three months, the snake had been passed through police and security for an investigation into how he appeared in England, veterinary hospitals for checkups and physical examinations, a quarantine to make sure he was safe to stay in the country, and long, bumpy drives between each location.

Needless to say, he was royally fed up by the time he reached his new home.

Chessington's World of Adventure, a zoo and adventure park family attraction, was located in Surrey. Apparently they had recently had a Cobra pass away from old age, and Harry replaced it in the large tank beside a Brazilian boa constrictor.

In all honesty, it was a nice place to be forced to live in, the snake had to admit to himself; it may not have been as spacious as the wild where his species lived naturally, but within the glass walls were a variety of plants and foliage to climb up and sleep on, a selection of rocks to bask on beneath a heat-producing light, mud and clay to slither through and hide in, and a clear pool of flowing water in the centre, perfect for cooling off and relaxing in. He was fed regularly and his tank was washed often, and all he had to do in return was look pretty for the tourists.

Not bad at all. Except the part where he was stuck within a glass prison, unable to get out to his younger self, nowhere near Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic, and absolutely useless when it came to the Wizarding War which was approaching in the next decade or two.

Harry dismissed the thought as he shifted his coils to warm his belly. From his position, he could see the sign (upside-down) which stated his details.

**This is ****Rufio**** the ****Mud Snake****.  
****His**** species is native to ****America****, where they eat ****small amphibians**** and live in ****marshland, mud, and water****.  
This one arrived at Chessington on ****April 10th 1989****.**

Beneath was a list of names of children who had adopted his predecessor, Edward the Cobra, and details on how to donate towards "Rufio" and "receive your own plaque and adoption package (includes a photo and 2 free visits to Chessington's World of Adventure, see terms and conditions)".

The year 1989 meant that the non-time-travelling Harry would be 8 or 9 years old. He winced a little at knowing he wasn't able to give his younger self a chance to live without neglect and borderline abuse, but it wasn't a major problem – he hadn't been aiming for a specific year originally, having no clue how the Time-Turner worked once the ritual was started. And anyway, he didn't think he'd turned out too bad – he could cook, he proudly told himself, which is a valuable life skill.

Back on topic, it had been only a week before he realised why Chessington sounded familiar. When he did, he could have slapped himself. (If he had hands, that is. As it was, he rolled himself off his sunning rock and let his body sink to the bottom of the pond.) The irony was stifling; this was the exact same zoo that the Dursleys had visited on Dudley's 11th birthday, and the boa in the tank beside him was the one he had spoken to.

This meant that if he couldn't figure a way past the zoo security any time soon, he still has the opportunity when little Harry comes and vanishes his glass cage. He'd have to work that out in his favour, perhaps by asking the boa to hide for the day, but it was likely going to be quite easy.

And until then, he'd live peacefully, make a couple of serpent friends, and try and get his magic back under control.

* * *

"_They need to feed me a bit more,"_ hissed Chester. He was born in captivity, but the Brazilian breeding had apparently given him a delightful accent anyway. He liked to joke that he sounded 'exotic'. "_I'm beginning to feel my ribs!"_

Yes, he may have been joking. It was half Rufio's love for Chester's sarcastic wit and half Harry's magic, which was still misbehaving, that caused a reaction anyway. Two hours later, at the evening feeding time, a breeze of wind came from nowhere and knocked a box of live mice into the rainforest-like enclosure that held the massive snake (who really didn't need any extra food, in Harry's opinion).

The zoo keeper leapt forward with a yelp in an attempt to catch it, but ended up just jolting the last two out as he grabbed it. Chester hissed out a cackling laugh and said a quick _"thanks, amigo"_ before sliding forward from his perch and beginning the hunt.

Rufio shot an amused glance at the fretting man before sneaking forward to scare a shivering mouse that had hidden too close to the glass separating their tanks.

He could get used to this.


	2. Escaping

I'm really glad for the positive responses I received for the first chapter, so thank you all so much! It's very motivating, and I've used my free periods this week to complete chapter 2. I'm hoping for around 3k words per chapter, since I hate short ones. :3 You'll notice several references and quotes from the original book, Philosopher's Stone, and the first film in this chapter, particularly little!Harry's conversation with Chester. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter stuff you recognise, but I do own a horse called Chester. The namesake snake in this story is considerably more intelligent than my beast.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Escaping**

About 2 years had passed. Being a snake without a calendar, he only knew this since Rufio's cage, along with the rest of the reptile house, had been strung with tinsel and cheap baubles for each Christmas, and the clothes of the visitors changed from woolly scarves and hats to thin t-shirts and shorts. The hot weather that was undoubtedly stirring outside the snake exhibit meant that summer was starting, and Dudley's birthday was approaching.

Harry had been getting anxious for a couple of weeks now, and as more and more children entered the cave-like room with dripping ice creams clutched in their sticky hands, he was often pressed at the glass awaiting a tiny, waifish kid to appear.

His twitchy mood was also affecting Chester, the friendly boa in the tank beside him. The Brazilian snake had taken to sighing in amusement as Rufio paced the sunning rocks and perched at the peak viewing point upon a spindly branch leaning against the cage front.

"_Oi,"_ the huge serpent hissed at one point, _"what's got your tail in a twist?"_

Chester liked using puns and human-turned-snake sayings too much for his own good, Harry often thought. He replied, _"A Speaker is coming soon. I need to talk to him."_

Like all snakes, Chester was very much aware of the myth about humans with a serpent tongue. It was a story passed from parent to hatchling, friend to friend, and enemy to enemy; told that there were two-legged ones with unimaginable power, who would protect the snakes in return for their protection. They had a certain call, a scent which caught the notice of any snake-tongues nearby, urging them closer to help, to _serve_ the strong Speaker.

The 'unimaginable power' is, of course, magic. This was the limit to the knowledge snakes had on the Wizarding World, and so they didn't understand an awful lot about what wizards are capable of doing – including the Imperius, which has been known to be used on summoned snakes during fights and duels.

It was because of this small amount of knowledge that Chester was aware that Rufio wasn't the everyday mud snake, and that he had at least been in contact with magical beings – and Speakers – before he was entrapped in the zoo. Harry didn't try to hide his magic (not that he could, with it misbehaving from the ritual), but kept Chester on a need-to-know basis – and Chester didn't ask.

"_When is he coming? Is something interesting happening?"_

Harry paused in his endeavour to extend his sight around the corner of the cage and out to the zoo car park. He figured this was a good time as any to explain the nearing situation to his friend.

"_He'll be here during sun-up,"_ he explained, using the snakes' terminology for the summertime. _"And he'll be able to help us escape."_

And this was true, for during his pacing of the enclosure front, Harry had realised that the glass on Rufio and Chester's cages was actually one joined piece. When he had vanished it during his visit when he was younger, there had only been the one snake there to escape – Chester, as Edward the cobra had recently passed away.

Harry was a hundred per cent chuffed. Not only would he have his way out, but his friend didn't have to give up his chance of freedom.

He had a plan sorted, and he had a backup plan, and he had a just-in-case backup plan. The first was to slither as fast as inhumanly possible, out the door and up a tree or some foliage which he could hide in until it was safe to escape the zoo's outer boundary. Plan B involved attempting his human form, which may or may not work. The final attempt, if all else failed, meant chewing on a human or two. He hoped to avoid the third option.

* * *

When the day finally arrived, he was jittery with nerves and excitement.

Not long after their exhibit first opened, a pretty blonde child walked in, one hand clasping a three-towered chocolate ice cream, and the other clutched to her mother's long skirt. She had huge blue eyes, and Harry thought she looked extremely angelic.

But the reason she caught Rufio's attention was not because she was beautiful, but because _ten year old Harry_ had thought she was 'angelic'. He had thought this as she skipped across the picnic park, ice cream eaten down to one scoop, and caught the eye of his cousin. Dudley had stomped over, Piers grinning wickedly at his heels, and ordered the girl to hand over her treat. Upon her refusal, he proceeded to slap it from her hand and kick it into the dirt. (Petunia smiled awkwardly as Vernon jokingly chided their son for losing the chance with a pretty woman.)

Dudley's tantrums aside, seeing the blonde child gazing wonderingly at the chameleon on the opposite side of the room told Rufio that the day he had been waiting for for over two years – long, lazy years – had finally come.

And an hour or so later (or approximately 137 circuits of the tank), in walked a family of three, a friend, and an unwanted relation.

_This is it, this it is, this is it!_ The mud snake flailed mentally, excited and anxious and the anticipation was killing him, and _Dudley would you just hurry up and annoy Chester for Merlin's sake!_

Outwardly, Rufio breathed a calming sigh and hunkered down on his tree perch, body curled and knotted around the leaves with his head poking out from under his tail. Chester caught onto the mood and settled down as well, just in time to watch the two thugs waddle up to the enclosure barrier.

"Whoa," they gasped together, eyes roving over the still forms of the serpents. Dudley obviously favoured the largest, staring at Chester as he imagined how many people it could fit in its mouth. Piers, on the other hand, liked the dangerous appearance of Rufio, the bright, blood-red markings showing that he was obviously extremely venomous (obviously).

"I want this one as a pet," Piers declared, spindly finger pointing directly at Rufio's face. "He could poison people who don't give me sweets!"

Dudley puffed up his chest in an attempt to make himself more impressive. "I would have this one, and it would strangle people, and bite them, and – and it would do whatever I say and everyone would give me stuff or else I'd set the snake on them!"

Rufio uncurled a bit as he laughed, and his smirking snake face ended up staring directly at Piers, who was more than slightly scared, even with glass separating them (at the moment).

In an effort to show off, he cleared his face and sneered, "Dudley, look, my one is moving and he would poison your one and win, I bet!"

"No it wouldn't!" Dudley was furious that the snake he didn't own was being bested by the snake his friend also didn't own. Childishly, he pointed at the brown-green snake in demand. "Move, snake! Kill!"

Chester didn't even twitch. Behind a dark coil, Rufio could just see his irritated eyes glaring lasers in the kids' direction. He snickered, forked tongue slipping between his fangs and tasting the air. Merlin, they needed to hurry up before the anticipation killed him!

Vernon shifted into view behind his whale-like offspring, and a metre behind stood the child they had been waiting for. Chester, scenting the Speaker, froze as much as he could in effort to not give himself away.

"Make it move!"

Dudley's demand was met by a noisy rapping and a yelled, "Move!" which shook the glass. When nothing happened, Dudley copied the action considerably louder. "MOVE!" Again, the Brazilian snake made no movement.

"Stupid snake, he's boring," the youngsters muttered as they shuffled off, Piers spotting a tarantula nearby which could also be used as an incentive for people to give him sweets.

Replacing the unlikable humans in the spot before the snake tanks now stood a tiny Harry with his oversized shirt tucked roughly into his similarly sized trousers, a belt wrapped twice around his hips to hold them up. As he first spoke, he was glaring cautiously over his shoulder at his relatives.

"Sorry about him," the boy said calmly. He turned his bespectacled face to the boa constrictor, pitying eyes smiling apologetically as he naturally shifted languages. _"He doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day, having people press their ugly faces in on you."_

If he was able to, Chester would have grinned widely. He shifted on the rock, head swivelling round to face the Speaker. He winked.

Something to understand about Parseltongue, being a magical language, is that it's as much about impressions and intent as it is about spoken words. Boas don't have proper eyelids, and so Chester isn't physically able to blink; instead, there is a thin, transparent scale that covers the eye for protection and so it doesn't dry up. By making slight movements in the muscles around his left eye, Chester made the impression of winking. Similarly, a human could tilt an eyebrow slightly and the conversation partner would understand the tiny, insignificant gesture as sarcastic humour.

So, Chester sort-of winked. Harry's eyes widened as Rufio watched, amazed and completely in awe of seeing himself from another perspective. He was also extremely glad that there were no paradox effects from seeing his alternate self. It wouldn't be particularly helpful if he began to fade and slide back to his real time after setting eyes on the other Harry.

"_Can you… hear me?"_ The kid was extremely cute, in Chester's opinion, and quite pitiful. He dipped his head in a positive answer. _"It's just – I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… I mean, do you talk to people often?"_

The boa sways a 'no', glancing over at Rufio to see his reaction to the conversation so far – the red and black snake was watching with rapt attention.

"_You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there, do you miss your family?"_ Unworried, Chester turns his head to point at one of the signs introducing him.

**Bred in Captivity**

"_Oh, I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents, either."_

Before Chester could answer or react, the fat child that was Harry's cousin noticed the huge, awake and rearing snake. Dudley came bounding over as fast as he could, ploughing straight through the Parselmouth as if he wasn't there.

"Mummy, Dad, come here! You won't believe what this snake is doing!"

As Dudley puts his hands on the glass, scrambling up the enclosure barrier and leaning forward to get closer to the impressive animal, Rufio spies the young Harry, still sprawled on the dusty ground where he landed, glare up at the spoilt boy.

"_Chester, get ready,"_ he hissed, excitement leaking into his voice. And with a small zap, accidental magic clashes with the glass cage. The shards sprinkle in towards Chester, and the boa watches as the pieces seem to evaporate before they reach the ground (or his scales). A loud crash brings his attention to his neighbour.

Rufio's branch, which was leaning on the now-gone glass, had fallen forward and flipped over the barrier, bark splintering and twigs flying as it hit the concrete ground. At the same time, Dudley Dursley was doing about the same thing in reverse; his chubby body had tumbled head first over the small wall, and he landed awkwardly in the shallow pool of water beneath Chester's current seat. Equally awkwardly, Rufio had landed still wrapped around the wood, and was half pinned by the branch.

"_Go now! Quickly!"_

The boa, lazy as he was, took his relaxed time as he swung his front end out and slithered down to the ground. His tabby-like patterns rippled with his movements, and he was a truly impressive sight.

Chester paused in front of Harry, nodding his head thankfully. _"Thanks, Amigo. Brazil, here I come." _And then he proceeded to glide from the cave, sending visitors and keepers alike leaping to the sides and clambering up from the ground, as if the height would give them the advantage.

Meanwhile, Rufio was just freeing the last of his tail from where it had been wedged under his perch. He had sat dazed for a few seconds after his abrupt landing, and the automatic reaction of grabbing nearby surfaces had got him tangled in the leaves and spindly branches. When he finally successfully yanked himself away, he reared up slightly to look around.

The zoo keepers were now realising that they had let their most prized reptile escape, and that they had another serpent lose. One had grabbed a bag, box, and a familiar tool that was used to pick snakes up from a distance, and his co-workers were quickly surrounding the prone snake.

Right, time to get out.

Pushing himself around, Rufio moved rapidly toward the back door. He kept to the walls, avoiding the stamping feet of scared visitors, and it was mere seconds before he reached the outside.

The mud snake forced himself not to stop at the wondrous sight of the sun, nor the feel of crunchy grass beneath his scales or the rich smell of fresh summertime or the twittering of wild and captive birds or –

Throwing himself back to full speed, Rufio squeezed his thin body through the first door he came to in the nearest cave-like building. It was empty of humans inside, thankfully, and out of immediate notice for when the keepers catch up with him. But they would catch up, and there were only so many hiding spots he could huddle in until he was found and re-bound.

Unfortunately, he didn't think he'd be able to hold up a long-term spell such as the Notice-Me-Not charm for longer than a few seconds. _Plan B it is, then,_ he thought, infinitely glad that Just-In-Case Backup Plan C wasn't needed.

For the first time since he was placed in Chessington, Rufio focused on his core and gathered his magic, pulling it inward and pleading mentally with it to obey him, to come back and let him use it, to be powerful and safe –

He had about two-thirds control over his magic, he found out. It was calming down at about the same rate as it had back during the war, unfortunately, so the previous experience had apparently not helped speed it up any. But it was good enough, and he dredged up as much as he could and focused, with _intent intent intent_, and – and –

Rufio transformed.

He straightened up from his crouched position, and could see himself in the line of mirrors along the wall beside him. Opposite was a row of toilet stalls. (The mess and smell confirmed that he was, indeed, in the _Men's_.) He still wore the dress shirt and trousers that he had been wearing during the ritual – his work clothes, in fact, just without the robes on top. He was barefoot and looked significantly more scruffy than he remembered, but he was human and not naked or splinched or any other unspeakable thing that could have gone wrong.

The finer workings of Plan B then began swirling in his mind, and he quickly span to the door and leapt out, an unpleasantly shocked expression on his face as he glanced back at the bathroom as if it were chasing him. Or, as if a snake was chasing him.

"There's a bloody great snake in the toilets!" The yelp and rushing caught the attention of the zoo workers who were prowling around a shrub garden, and they thanked him as they passed. Rufio smirked to himself in a horrifically Slytherin way as they disappeared into the loos, allowing him to escape unnoticed.

He also sighed and eye-rolled as he realised that he was thinking of himself as Rufio.

When he was out of Chessington's front gates, he quickly spotted the silver car that belonged to the Dursley family (who were still inside being fretted over for shock – not that Dudley was hurt, since he practically bounces when he falls).

The options were sneaking into the car and getting a lift to Privet Drive, or taking public transport. The lack of money didn't help in the latter, but there would be a large chance of being spotted if he snuck into the Sedan.

But then, remembering how Petunia had been busy half-carrying her son into the house for cuddling and Vernon had focused on cursing about how magic isn't real, the boot of the car was probably safe. It wasn't a long drive, either, so he'd be fine in the stuffy, small space. And he'd be a snake, after all.

Hopefully he'd be able to get in contact with Little Harry within the next couple of weeks, so he'd have a good chance of explaining the Wizarding World to him. He'd also need to find a place he could sleep safely, without fear of being spotted by the other residents of Number 4. Not to mention that the other Harry would be locked in his cupboard for about a week with only short potty breaks for his accidental magic (and potential death of _darling_ Dudley).

On second thoughts, maybe thinking of himself as Rufio and his younger self as Harry would be a lot easier. Peace of mind is a good enough excuse to willingly refer to himself as a punky kid from a fairytale.

Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, he focused his run-away magic again and pushed it into the boot lock, snapping it open. He curled himself up beside a spare tyre and a picnic basket (empty, unfortunately – he'd missed his lunch for this), slammed the boot closed, and then slid back into his smaller, scaly form.

From behind the picnic box and stinking wheel, Rufio wondered absently how Chester's escape had gone. He had the advantage of being huge and terrifying, which usually worked in his favour when it came to humans. Brazil was a pretty farfetched dream, though.

The car wobbled and sank considerably as the heavy male Dursleys entered it, and there was muffled chattering from the two loud-mouthed children as they discussed who came closer to being strangled to death. A short, bumpy drive later bought them to the perfect, _normal_ street of Privet Drive, Little Whinging, and as the crashing of doors being closed eventually tapered off, silence reigned.

Rufio slipped from the car boot and slithered his way under the butterfly bush beside the drive. His red and black head poked out from the foliage to see the familiar house, silhouettes of a fussing Petunia and a bragging Dudley showing in the lounge window.

_Home, not-so-sweet home._


	3. Intermission: Changing

I would apologise for cutting in with an intermission rather than following on to see Harry and Rufio meeting, but it would be insincere. I hope you all enjoy this longer, and the intermissions will be quite spread out so don't worry too much. Their meeting will come next! Thank you to the reviewer who pointed out a mistake in chapter 1; much appreciated, and corrected. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my insane imagination and Rufio's secrets.

* * *

**Intermission 1: Changing**

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, December 1996, Sixth Year._

Draco Malfoy was up to something.

Harry thought so, at least. His loyal friends seemed to disagree, but when did that really ever matter to Harry Potter? Usually this was a good thing; Hermione and Ron, his first and best friends, would keep themselves out of any possible danger if they thought he was overreacting and wasting his time.

But the blond had spent the last term sneaking around, and even during the holidays Harry had spotted (read: stalked and saw) him doing potentially illegal things in Knockturn Alley, the shopping street best known for its more shady visitors. Maybe he was being slightly overly paranoid, but being Harry Potter, he figured he had a valid reason to be.

With the knowledge of Draco having a "task" assigned to him, the Boy Who Lived was worrying. He couldn't get the conversation between Malfoy and Snape after the Slug Club party out of his head – his classmate's task was apparently bad enough for his teacher and godfather to worry about and attempt to help him. Furthermore, the fact that there was _so obviously definitely_ a delightful black skull scarred into the bloke's left forearm increased Harry's worry by about three hundred and fifty per cent.

He needed to plan. Harry was good at plans, he had to admit – they were always well thought out with a large range of possibilities considered. In his younger years, the final events usually went in a completely unplanned way anyway, and so he had learnt to make back up plans, and back up back up plans too, for every consequence and unbelievably probable happening.

Since this idea wasn't putting him directly into danger (as in, no, he wasn't running to Voldemort again), Harry was making one big plan with some slight variations for potential slip-ups or accidents. It didn't even have to be too exact, since the point of the whole venture was to investigate what the Slytherin was up to and find out any information via accidently overhearing/eavesdropping.

Part of it was already in motion, in fact. It wasn't started for this purpose entirely when he thought of it, but it was undeniably helpful and he was not complaining about this fortuitous act; during his trip to Diagon Alley before fifth year, he'd stumbled upon a treasure.

* * *

"Where did Hermione disappear to?"

"The potions section," Ron replied. "Apparently she wants to do better now that Snape's not going to be teaching it."

Harry peered past a shelf of witch fiction to see the frizzy-haired girl stacking her seventh book on top of the pile floating beside her. "Right."

The ginger gave an almighty sigh. "Since she's going to be here for a while, I'm going to grab some stuff from Quality Quidditch Supplies. You in?"

"Nah, I have the servicing kit you got me for my birthday. Thanks again, mate."

"No problem. I won't be a minute, not that she'll notice."

Ron left quickly, slipping through the crowd of school children and fussing parents and escaping into the street, leaving Harry in Flourish and Blotts. Since he had the time and nothing else to do, he wandered slowly down the aisles, eyes lazily swinging over the displays of books, all sizes and colours, photos moving and enticing customers into picking them up. He didn't see anything of interest until he found the 'obscure magics' section, labelled by the small sign above the shelves.

Immediately, his attention was caught by the cover of a particularly thick book, the background a deep purple with orange sparks whizzing back and forth. In the centre was the white shape of a human, crouching and stretching in the oddest way, his hair growing and back lengthening as he literally changed into a dog.

The dog then jumped and pounced before burrowing into the words it was standing on; Guide to Animagi. From the hole the puppy had dug into the 'u' then climbed a man, and the cycle began once more.

_Perfect._

* * *

Part 2 of the plan was beginning now, in the Great Hall during lunch.

"I'm staying at Hogwarts for Christmas."

Cue predicted chaos.

"Calm down, no, Ron seriously – I don't – of course I'm not going to eat any gifted chocolate, d'you think I'm nuts? Why would – Hermione what are – I can have presents here – I'm a wizard, I own an owl – Hogwarts is home too, don't want to impose – no, NO! Stop trying to – what would that accomplish – don't be stupid, why would I be planning something dangerous?"

"You told Mum you'd be back for the holidays though, Harry! She's planned it and all, and she'll be making extra food for you," Ron had swallowed his latest mouthful of food to speak, thankfully.

"The only planning is conjuring an extra bed in your room, Ron, and she always makes loads of food. You'll eat my portion anyway."

"True," he conceded.

"Ronald! No, Harry, you can't stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. We'll all be back home and you'll be alone here, and after everything that's happened lately what with the poisoned mead and that _bludger that smashed your skull –"_

"You're overreacting, Hermione. And anyway, I'm perfectly healed from that, and Madam Pomfrey has even let me go to practise again."

"True," Ron repeated. Loyal friend.

"If you're doing this as some stupid attempt to follow Malfoy around, Harry, I will –"

Harry sighed, dropping his fork. It was unlikely he'd get another bite in between the arguments anyway. "I'm not following Malfoy. And my attempts are not stupid! I've planned this one."

Damnit, he hadn't meant to say that.

True to form, the brightest witch of her age picked up his slip. "Harry James Potter, don't you lie to me! Your plans always fail –"

"No they don't," he groused, unheard.

"– and there is no reason to stalk him because he is – not – a – Death Eater!"

The last words would have been yelled in frustration, Harry expected, had she not hushed to a furious whisper instead to dissuade the staring. He rolled his green eyes.

"_If _I decide to spy on Malfoy a little bit due to _coincidentally _being in a position to do so, I will not get caught. I promise, swear on my life." (He figured his life was pretty much in danger constantly anyway, and a little bet won't change much.)

Harry was sent a glare that promised continued dispute and possible torture in the near future, and that the topic was _not_ closed and she did _not _believe him. For now, though, he had some peace.

Within the hour, his name was scrawled messily on the sign-up sheet in the Gryffindor common room, and Hermione was giving him dirty looks.

* * *

Much to his chagrin, the horrific Occlumency lessons that Snape had forced Harry into the year previous were actually quite helpful. The first and longest step in becoming an animagus was meditation in order to calm yourself enough to work out how to change your body.

It made sense, he granted, since he doubted it was easy to encourage the initially painful shift in your bone shape and length, your organs and skin to change and sprout feathers or hair, and especially your skull to reshape around your brain. He hoped he wasn't a bird, honestly; as great as flying without a broomstick would no doubt be, he didn't feel like growing a beak _ever_.

If he was able to calm himself enough to allow the transformation to happen at all, then he could begin on the other stages which included finding his form, potions, and the final transformation. If he was unable to do so, then he had no chance of succeeding – and he _really_ wanted to succeed.

Sirius was, of course, the first thing that he thought of when he saw the book; to follow in his father and godfather's footsteps, to become a true son of a Marauder who deserved that title, worthy of his parents' pride. He could imagine the look on Sirius' face when he showed him...

And so he spent an hour every night laying or sitting in his bed, eyes closed, breathing slow, fading into relaxation without falling asleep. It was harder than it sounded, and multiple times he had woken up in the morning with the book open on his lap or with his neck bent uncomfortably where he'd fell against the headboard.

He had the hang of it by the next October, during his sixth year; the aim was to relax your mind, not to empty it (which was still impossible), and he could almost feel the part of his mind which would trigger the transformation. Sirius wouldn't be there to see it completed – a thought that often flitted through his mind – but that made him all the more determined.

Via Owl Order, a useful order and postage process upheld by many Diagon Alley stores which had saved many a student from detentions in various classes, Harry bought the ingredients required for the first potion mentioned in the book. He requested triple the amount, just in case of disaster, and set up his spare cauldron – his first year one with the dent in the side – in the corner of the 6th year boys' dorm bathroom. The official excuse was "a potion to help with Occlumency", which was sort of true, and although Harry felt odd keeping his best friends in the dark about his newest venture, he also felt reluctant to confide in them – he liked having it as his own little secret, and to see if he could do something this big (and sort of impressive) without the constant guidance of the Muggleborn or moral support of the Pureblood.

And so the potion cycled through red, orange, yellow, green – and then fizzed up and exploded, leaving acidic foam burning holes through various spots on the bathroom ceiling and walls, and scoring a path from the upturned cauldron to the plug in the nearest shower.

Attempt number two only got to red before he missed a stage due to unavoidable detention that lasted an hour longer than expected (he swore part way through (loudly)), and which darkened to what appeared to be a blood-like substance until he tried to tip it down the drain only to find that it was almost solidified gloop.

He was considering sending off for more cat whiskers – plucked from pure black kittens younger than a year old – when his third shot succeeded. He saw it go through all colours of the spectrum before settling in a misty, partially transparent liquid that fizzed like cola. He bottled it, preening with smugness, and labelled each vial, setting one on his bedside table.

That night, after gulping the strawberry-grape flavoured elixir, Harry relaxed into meditation and found himself staring eye-to-eye with slit pupils. He reeled back mentally, which was weird since there was no gravity or true movement or – or any substance, really, in his mind. The snake image seemed as if it were drawn on his closed eyelids, and it was all he could focus his mind on as it twisted around and curled its tail into a knotted pile. Harry noted the colouring – black, shiny and dangerous with rich, striking red streaks. The head was triangular with hints of a more orange-pink on the chin, and it was a reasonably small animal compared to the huge, venomous beasts featured regularly on the Discovery Channel (which Petunia was fond of, in between her soaps).

Harry spared a brief moment to close his eyes in relief that he was doing this alone. He could only imagine Ron's reaction to seeing the Boy Who Lived's animal equivalent turning out to be an evil, slimy snake – no better than Voldemort, no doubt. He was slightly hesitant himself, in fact, but the snake _was_ quite beautiful, and he _was_ meant to be a Slytherin in the first place. And was getting an illegal animagus form to spy on a classmate not an extremely Slytherin action..?

Overnight, he came to terms with his new form. (It helped to imagine himself trying to stalk Malfoy as a lion, ducking into doorways to avoid being spotted and leaving streaks of golden mane sticking out into view.)

His trip to the library the next morning, under the guise of checking something for Transfiguration, was quick and efficient. He took a piece of parchment to scribble down any information he found, which was all available in a thick book on snake species. Flicking through the pages the first time had resulted in five flashes of black and red.

Some of the snakes were red/scarlet versions of popular breeds, but there was one which matched his memory almost exactly. The wiggling image had a yellow tint on its face, and the red-pink curls only reached half way up the snake's sides, but the size and details were perfect. The nonvenomous mud snake. He jotted down the descriptions beneath the sketch he'd completed the previous night, and headed back to the common room.

The next – and last – two stages were somewhat mingled together. He had to complete the transformation of forming his body into the shape of the snake, which involved a few transfiguration charms to help him on the way. As soon as he had changed back into his human form after his first time, he needed to drink a series of potions – which he therefore had to make (correctly) before he completed the first change.

The potions weren't to aid his change, but to enable him to _survive_ the change. Animals could contract a much larger range of diseases and infections than humans, especially if they spend time outside; if a human was to get the illnesses that their animal could catch, it could be a fatal risk – a large animal such as a horse, for example, could probably stand a disease for longer than a human. Not to mention the lack of medication for animal-specific ailments consumable by people.

Similarly, there was an entire chapter in Guide to Animagi that had creature-specific potions created for animagus forms, such as a 'flea brew' for dogs and cats which Sirius had apparently not seen.

Another of the potions was to help control his instincts, and to stop them bleeding into his human form too much. If Professor McGonagall casually began to lick her arms during class, after all, there may be some slight worry.

And finally, there was a mixture which sounded absolutely disgusting that helped temper any instincts during the time spent as an animal so that you'd be able to change back at will, even when your animal mind is distracted, and to give you a better control over the shifting.

* * *

The previously mentioned conversation happened at this point, and he got the reluctant acceptance from his friends that _fine,_ maybe he could stay for Christmas if he _insisted._ The train soon came to take the majority of the students home, and Harry began the next parts of the animagus process. He also found out some startling information:

There was another animagus in the school. Or at least, there was a koala that had found himself lost on the wrong continent.

Due to the small size of his animagus form, Harry was still able to practise shifting in his dorm room, behind his closed curtains. It was soft as well, which helped for comfort. However, it got a bit boring over time, and a small amount of claustrophobia had begun to seep into his mind from his childhood years spent in his cupboard.

It had been a few weeks since he'd used the revealing potion and begun the slow process of growing scales, and he was now taking any free time he had to settle in a quiet area and meditate. He favoured an area by the edge of the Black Lake, where a large, non-carnivorous willow tree stood on the cliff-like outcropping that hung low over the water edge. It was toward one side of the lake and almost near the school boundary, so students rarely made the effort to go so far from the castle. It was beautiful during the night; a perfect view of the wide stretch of sky above the lake, and the sun set every evening in the centre of the horizon, decorating the water surface with orange and pink reflections.

He tried to get an hour a day there at least, preferably with some of it just before curfew when he was tired and relaxed enough to focus on his mindscape easily. He also spent any free periods – separate from his friends or with an excuse to be alone – under the shade of the willow. Another benefit of the isolated location was the lack of noise (or snoring, as Ron often does in the dorm); there was only the gentle hum of nature, and the occasional singing of the sirens further out in the water – and the splashing the merrows made as they went about their day.

And it was one evening, when he got to the spot before the sun started sinking, that he sprawled between the large, winding roots of the tree and leant back, his head tilting up with peace to see –

A fluffy, grey koala clinging to a tangle of twigs, hairy ears twitching as it stared down at the Gryffindor with wide, brown eyes.

Koalas were Australian, he was pretty sure. And he could swear it just stuck its tongue out at him…

Harry hadn't seen the animal before, but the snuffling noises it was making were quite noticeable. Suspecting that this was their first encounter on both ends, and that he was either correct in his guess or he'd embarrass himself in front of a wild, possibly escaped koala bear, Harry slid the Guide to Animagi out from his shoulder bag and into view.

Having kept his eyes on the koala's, Harry saw very clearly when the brown eyes widened even further and flickered back to his face. Harry smirked.

"So, you're an animagus?"

The koala shuffled to sit comfortably and stared haughtily down at him. After a second, its head dipped in a nod.

Harry grinned. "I'm almost there, I think. I reckon my potions grade will go up with all this practise. I can't believe my dorm is still standing, honestly. What year are you in?"

More shuffling, but it didn't answer. Harry supposed that wasn't really a question a koala _could_ answer.

"Seventh year? Sixth?" When the nod came for the latter, Harry peered at his new acquaintance in curiosity. If he could figure out who it was, perhaps they'd give him tips? Since the Marauders couldn't, unfortunately.

"Gryffindor?" The absolutely disgusted look on the koala's face was very amusing. "Ah, Slytherin. You're not Malfoy – he'd be a ferret. Zabini would be something posh and prissy. Parkinson is totally a pug even in human form, and Greengrass is almost definitely a swan. I'm not even considering Crabbe and Goyle, nor Bulstrode. Am I right so far?"

A nod. Harry was running out of students. "There's Tracy Davis, and that other girl, the bored-looking one. And… Nott?"

The koala purposefully froze into a statue, careful not to react to any name and reveal itself. Knowing it was definitely a classmate, Harry wasn't about to _look_ at its gender. He sighed.

"Okay then, suit yourself. But I'm going to meditate and whatnot, so if you'll excuse me." And Harry proceeded to do just that.

Christmas came and went in a flurry of decorations and torn wrapping paper.

One particularly warm day (for Scotland during winter, at least), Harry returned to find a thin paperback propped against the roots. He sat down and pulled it toward him, shooting a glance through the leaves to meet the intelligent gaze of the koala.

Tips From an Animagus, was the title, and it was more of a diary than an information manuscript. It detailed the stages that the author had gone through to achieve her cheetah form, which thankfully looked very similar to his own method, and hints that she had figured out along the way to speed up the processes and make certain parts easier. The ongoing commentary was invaluble, and Harry sincerely thanked his newest friend for the assistance.

Within a week, he changed. He had felt it coming 3 days previous and rushed to complete the final potion so he'd be able to shift, sitting with the bubbling concoction for an entire Wednesday and adding the next ingredients as soon as it was possible. As he jogged to the willow that night, a conjured satchel containing a rack of 8 potions slung over his shoulder, Harry knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for.

The first change was painful and awkward, and having no limbs was definitely something he'd have to get used to. He shifted back as soon as he could, sucking the scales back into his skin and extending his arms out in a luxurious stretch. As he downed potion after potion, he sniggered in amusement at the mystery koala's surprised face.

Coincidentally, the same surprised expression was viewable in an eerily similar way on one Theodore Nott the next morning at breakfast.

Success was sweet.


End file.
